


the most beautiful thing

by janie_tangerine, Keiiek



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Child Abandonment, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Abandonment Issues, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, geralt's mother we only know her to curse her decisions, writing songs is A Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29374413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keiiek/pseuds/Keiiek
Summary: The boy looks at him with a stare so hopeful Jaskier feels like shit at once because there is no way they’ll find his mother there, he knows that. “Thank you,” he sobs, “sir…?”“Oh, please, no sir,” he says, “I’m but a humble bard, no need to call me sir. I’m Jaskier. And you are…?”“Geralt,” he replies. “My ma is Visenna,” he adds, but Jaskier doesn’t think he heard that.Geralt --Oh, fuck.“Geralt,” he says, trying to not fucking hyperventilate, “nice to meet you. So, you want to meet my horse and then we can go to the village?”The kid -- Geralt -- nods, his eyes going dry for the first time since they met, and then slips his tiny hand inside his.or: in which a mage curses Geralt to relieve his worst memory for an entire month. Jaskier deals.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 45
Kudos: 602
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	the most beautiful thing

**Author's Note:**

> ... HELLO HELLO HELLO here I am with my piece for the Geraskier reversebang 2020 challenge which I wrote based on Nol-Nol's amazing art [here](https://nol-nol.tumblr.com/post/642906610773213184/new-session-archive-of) which I knew immediately I wanted to fic the moment I saw it and which is really really lovely, you'll find it in the fic also at the right scene but please do go and check it out because it was just so lovely ;; and I'd like to thank her for the patience she had waiting for me to finish this when it took me ages ops *hides*
> 
> Other than that I really had fun writing this and I did need to throw some more tooth-rotting fluff into the world so I'll drop it here along with the art - I loved doing this challenge so please check out the other works too. ;) Also for once I just... CAME UP WITH THE TITLE BECAUSE OF OBVIOUS PLOT REASONS so not stolen from anyone. Miracle! *drops fic and saunters back downwards*

Before the blow knocks him out, Jaskier has the time to think, _if Geralt hadn’t gotten rid of that arse of a mage I would have found a way_.

Then his head hits the side of the wall in the mage’s hut and he passes out, and only wakes up… he doesn’t know how long later. A _while_ later. Fuck. His head hurts like hell and yeah, right, he should have sat this one hunt out.

He’s about to call for Geralt and asks him if he’s all right -

 _Then_ he remembers exactly what went down before he got thrown against the wall.

So.

The mage in question, not even a proper sorcerer but certainly one bothersome enough that he had been spending the previous two months killing sheep from the poor farmers in the nearby village _because he could_ , hadn’t proved himself very amenable to… well. Handle things like a civilized person, and while Geralt usually refrains from killing or permanently harming people and monsters alike if he can avoid it… this one man really did seem bent on just starving every single town he passed through just because he thought it was entertaining.

Things had escalated, to the point where Geralt had to kill him, Jaskier staying on the side, and then the mage had said, _then enjoy a parting gift_ and before a bolt of magic strong enough to kick Jaskier to the wall and put him out of commission from the sides hit _Geralt_ first, he had said --

He had said --

“To a month of relieving your worst memory,” Jaskier whispers under his breath.

 _Fuck_. He stands up at once, swaying for a moment until he finds his footing.

Geralt is _not_ in the hut. He can only see both his swords, one on the ground and the other stuck into a piece of wood -- right. Where Geralt had put it through the mage’s stomach, and he’ll wonder later why there is no corpse to be found. Maybe it just vanished? Never mind that. He’ll worry about that later.

 _A month of relieving your worst memory_? Right. _A month_ means that whatever the mage did is temporary, so… knowing he was going to die, he probably put _all_ of his remaining magic into that spell and that’s why there’s no corpse to be found. So, the good news would be that it’s not anything that can’t be undone, but the bad would be that most likely it’s not going to be anything easy to deal with and the mage is _dead_ so _he_ can’t reverse it.

 _A month of your worst memory_. Not that Jaskier has a clue of what that would be, he’s pretty sure that Geralt has plenty to choose from, but --

Suddenly, a bout of nausea rises up in his stomach.

Could it be that the memory in question is _Blaviken_ and that piece of shit either sent Geralt back in time or did something similar making him relieve it over and over again, somewhere Jaskier can’t find him?

 _Fuck_.

“Geralt!” He calls out.

Nothing.

He shakes his head, calls out for him again, receives no answer.

He’s starting to think that he might be right, and in that case he’ll… see to be _here_ a month from now because it’s not like he can do much else, unless he finds _another_ mage to come here and see if they can either undo it or send him wherever Geralt ended up, which could be an option… but if he’s right then he really doesn’t want to leave Geralt stuck like _that_ for a month.

Again, he’s… just supposing things. It could be that maybe it _wasn’t_ Blaviken, but then _where the fuck is Geralt_?

He tries to call out for him some more. No answer.

He goes back to their camp, hoping that Geralt made his way back there somehow, but no, there’s only Roach and their packs and bedrolls -- Jaskier drops the swords on the ground, then puts a hand on Roach’s back and lets out a sigh.

“Guess you have no idea where he ended up, huh,” he says. Roach has no answer, of course. He supposes he’ll have to bring her with, whatever happens now, but still -

“He can’t have just disappeared into thin air,” he sighs, taking a look around. Considering the sun’s position, Jaskier must have been out for at least an hour… but would Geralt have left him there if he hadn’t been forcibly removed from the damned hut? No, Jaskier knows he wouldn’t have. So if he wandered off then he must have been in a damned _bad_ shape, which means he needs to at least take another look around the area. He pats Roach a couple of times, then figures he’ll try to go out on the main road. Maybe he wandered off? He groans, still feeling a bit woozy from the hit to the head, shit that _hurt,_ and _then_ \--

“Ma!”

 _What_ \-- all right. That definitely wasn’t Geralt, but it sounded like a kid who lost his mother or something, and -- well. He’s not going to leave a damned kid alone on the side of the road. He supposes he can see what’s going on and get back to look for Geralt later, not that he’s anywhere to be seen. He follows the voice -- the closer he gets, the more the kid sounds like he’s completely losing his mind, and by the time he reaches the road he sees him and _hears_ him properly.

And _fuck_ but he’s in a bad way -- this close, the child is about _wailing_ , standing on the empty road screaming his lungs out, and it looks like he’s been at it for a long time because it sounds like it’s paining him to shout, at this point. He’s only calling for his ma, nothing else, and after another round of it Jaskier feels completely fucking pained himself just hearing it.

 _Right_. He’ll take care of this, then he’ll be back here to look for Geralt. He can do that.

“Hey!” He shouts himself, and the kid stops screaming to turn his way, standing still in the middle of the road as Jaskier gets closer.

Now that he’s in front of him, he can give a better assessment -- can’t be older than six, and he _really_ is distressed, with tiny fists closed spasmodically to his sides and face wet with tears and red-rimmed eyes, and he’s looking at Jaskier like he can’t believe _someone_ has heard him out.

“Hey,” he says, more gently, kneeling down so they’re at eye level, “can I help you? Did you lose your ma?”

The boy bursts out crying again, his bottom lip trembling. “ _I_ didn’t,” he sobs, “ _she_ did.”

“... Your ma lost you?” Jaskier asks. _How_ do you lose your kid in the middle of an empty road? A busy market he’d understand, but… like _this_?

“I don’t _know_ ,” the kid sobs, “She said to get her some water and I went but then I came back and she was _gone_ and she hasn’t come back.” Then he stops talking, trying to wipe at his eyes with his tiny closed fists, and Jaskier feels a moment of complete helplessness, because _who the fuck leaves their child in the middle of the road_? Fuck. Maybe he’s from the nearby village. Maybe he can bring him there and see if they can find his mother and he _will_ sure as hell give her a piece of his mind.

“Right,” Jaskier says, “maybe she just -- do you come from that village down the road?”

The kid shakes his head. “We have a house. Just us. But I didn’t know where we were going. She drove the cart. That other way.”

Well, _shit_.

Now that Jaskier looks at his clothing, it seems… well, not costly. Sturdy, and certainly sewn with care, but nothing like the finery he used to wear, nor the kind of clothes you buy at city markets.

Well then.

“Listen,” Jaskier says, hoping that Geralt forgives him for delaying looking for him, but he _wouldn’t_ want him to leave a child in the middle of the fucking road when his mother most likely just bloody _left him there_ , “I have a horse nearby. We can go to the next village in the direction you said and check if your ma is there or if anyone has seen her, how about it?”

The boy looks at him with a stare so hopeful Jaskier feels like shit at once because there is no way they’ll find her there, he _knows_ that. “Thank you,” he sobs, “sir…?”

“Oh, please, no sir,” he says, “I’m but a humble bard, no need to call me sir. I’m Jaskier. And you are…?”

“Geralt,” he replies. “My ma is Visenna,” he adds, but Jaskier doesn’t think he heard _that_.

 _Geralt_ \--

Oh, _fuck_.

“Geralt,” he says, trying to not fucking hyperventilate, “nice to meet you. So, you want to meet my horse and then we can go to the village?”

The kid -- _Geralt_ \-- nods, his eyes going dry for the first time since they met, and then slips his tiny hand inside his.

 _Fuck, fuck_ and _fuck_.

Well, at least he _did_ find him.

\--

On the way to the camp, he does get a few more bits of information out of the kid -- _shit,_ Geralt, _damn it_. They live in this tiny house in the forest somewhere that’s definitely _not_ here and not Rivia,

( _so_ of Rivia _isn’t even true? Jaskier_ knew _that accent sounded fake_ )

his mother is a healer _and_ most likely a mage of some sorts and she has the prettiest red hair in the whole world, and no, his father isn’t in the picture, and _fuck_ , if that mage said _a month of relieving his worst memory_ then --

Fucking _hell_.

Geralt’s worst memory isn’t Blaviken or whatever the fuck that mage presumed, it’s _his own damned mother dumping him on the side of the road just like that_ and leaving him there to be found by -- most likely Vesemir, from what Jaskier can deduce, and he was -- _he was_ \--

“Hey, Geralt?” He asks, nearing the camp. “How old are you? Just so we get to know each other better.”

“I’ll be six in two weeks,” the kid says, sounding _proud_ of it.

Jaskier wants to scream.

He wasn’t even _six_ and he wasn’t given a damned _choice_ , and if Jaskier thinks about how he’d have never recognized Geralt like this because he has _hazel_ eyes now and that red _curly_ hair that is nothing like the gold and white he sports now and _fuck_ , that’s why Geralt always gets completely closed off if anyone comments either way his hair or his damned eyes now, _of course he does_ \--

“And how old are _you_?”

Right.

 _Right_.

“Thirty-one,” Jaskier says. “Thirty-two in… six months or so. Here, she’s Roach,” he says as they walk into the clearing.

Geralt’s eyes go wide in the light. “She’s _beautiful_ ,” he says, “can I --”

“Sure,” Jaskier says around a lump in his throat, “sure you can. She’ll love you.”

Geralt about _runs_ to her, and she leans down, letting him pat her head. She probably recognized him, regardless of what happened.

Fuck.

 _A month of relieving your worst memory_.

Good thing that Jaskier was here for this one hunt because if Geralt had been alone and _anyone_ else ran into him first --

He’s _not_ going to consider that option.

Right.

Now --

He’ll let Geralt have his fun with Roach, then they’ll go to the next town where of course Geralt’s mother won’t be found anywhere, he _will_ do what he can for the poor kid when he inevitably gets heartbroken for good over it, because of course that will happen, then --

Well.

Then he’s going to wait out a month in the first place he can find where he can get by playing songs for that long _and_ make sure that Geralt spends his time... he supposes as _not miserable_ as a six year old whose mother fucking _abandoned him to become a witcher without even giving him a choice_ can reasonably be.

If that mage is, for some kind of miracle, not as dead as he seems to be, Jaskier _is_ going to kill him with his own hands if he has the chance to.

\--

Geralt is delighted that Jaskier lets him ride Roach on his own, but then again considering that she’s carrying all their baggage and the village isn’t so far, no point in tiring her out. And honestly, let the kid have fun as long as he can -- he won’t be having it for a lot longer. That said, like _this_ Geralt is downright chatty when it comes to asking questions -- by the time they get to the next village, which is _not_ the one they came from thankfully, he’s gotten out of Jaskier more personal information than his older counterpart ever asked for directly. Which Jaskier is only too happy to give -- it’s not as if it’s some kind of state secret.

He also has a lot of questions about _Roach_ that Jaskier isn’t so sure he can answer, but he tries to his best, and then they’re in the village and Geralt goes silent.

Right.

He hates himself for this, but -- if only he had known _before_ opening his mouth, he wouldn’t have let Geralt get hopeful about this, except he _hadn’t_ , so. They spend the next half hour asking each single shop owner on the way if they saw a red haired woman driving a cart -- he lets Geralt describe her and he notices his _hazel_ eyes turning progressively sadder with each _no_ he gets, and the pitiful stares the people he talks to send him the moment they realize what’s going on don’t help _at all_.

They leave the inn for last -- Jaskier pays the stablehand to look after Roach, then leads Geralt inside, feeling how strongly that tiny hand is clutching on to his own.

 _Shit_.

He asks the innkeeper. He lets Geralt describe the woman in question.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, sympathetically, “no one who looks like that passed through here recently.”

“Oh,” Geralt says, “thank you,” and fuck he sounds like he’s about to cry _again_ , of course he is.

“A room,” Jaskier says, passing the innkeeper a few coins. “And I’ll play for you tonight, if you can use a bard.”

“Sure. Always good for business. You do good, we can get the kid some sweets.”

“Obligated,” Jaskier says, taking the key, and then, “come on, let’s go upstairs.”

Geralt gives him a tiny nod, follows him silently upstairs and waits until Jaskier closes the door.

Then he bursts out in tears, _worse_ than before, and -- his shoulders are shaking all over and fuck but as much as Jaskier doesn’t recall his own childhood very fondly he doesn’t think he can ever remember having felt like _that_ , and fuck, as far as _this_ Geralt knows they’ve known each other for four hours but he’s known him for _years_ and there is no way he can just stand there and do anything when _his mother just left him there_ , for --

“Hey,” he says, feeling useless, kneeling down again with his arms held out, “I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry,” and a moment later Geralt’s thrown himself against him and sobbing loudly against his shoulder, drenching it in tears, but what else should he even do? He picks the kid up and goes to sit on the bed, pulling him close and running a hand over his back, letting him cry it out as Geralt’s fingers grab the back of his neck tight enough to hurt, and fuck he wishes he could say _something_ except that everything he can think of just… wouldn’t make sense if he really had just met Geralt three hours earler, so he just - keeps on doing that and keeps on saying he’s sorry and maybe calls him darling a couple of times and Geralt just cries _harder_ and --

He’s never felt this fucking useless, but if giving the kid a damned hug or ten is the only thing he can do for now, he _sure as hell_ will.

\--

He doesn’t know how long it goes on, but when Geralt finally stops sobbing and starts sniffing, moving his head away, Jaskier moves a hand to his pocket and takes out his _nice_ silken handkerchief. The kid’s face is a _mess_ , snot and tears everywhere, and those hazel eyes look more red than else.

Shit. Right. Hazel eyes. He doesn’t really want to know what happens to them in the trials. He’s pretty damn sure he will never ask.

He shakes his head and tilts his head, showing Geralt the blue handkerchief, and when the kid nods he wipes his face carefully, for what it’s worth.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I was hoping she’d be here. I -”

Geralt shakes his head, sniffing again. “What do I do now?” He asks, looking down at Jaskier’s dirty clothes, and he sounds so _sad_ , fuck, of course he does, and he probably thinks that he’s going to drop him at the first orphanage he sees.

He _could_ make something up, tell him that maybe they can wait a week or so and see if she comes back for him, but… honestly, why would he get his hopes up like _that_? It would just be cruel knowing that Geralt’s not changing back to _himself_ for a month and when Jaskier knows his mother’s not coming back at all.

 _His worst memory_.

Fuck it.

“Hey,” he says, “nothing you don’t want to. Tell you what, I was planning on finding someplace to play for a while, I’m tired of tramping all around the place. You can stay with me for now, what about it?”

The kid looks _almost_ hopeful -

“But _why_ would you?” His lip trembles again. “If _she_ didn’t want me -”

 _Of course,_ if his mother didn’t want him why would a random guy he met on the side of the road?

… Shit. It’s hitting… very close to their first meeting, isn’t it?

At least he doesn’t have to lie about _this_. “Well,” he says, “my… family didn’t really want me either. They never appreciated that I wanted to play music and… not doing what they wanted me to. I kind of ran away to become a bard when I was fifteen or so. I get it. And I’m not going anywhere now.”

“Oh.” Geralt seems to think about it, then looks up at him with such a sweet stare Jaskier thinks he’s going to melt on the damned bed. “Really? I… wouldn’t bother you?”

“No,” Jaskier says, and he obviously sounds like he means it, because Geralt seems to relax a tiny bit. “Really. You know what, the innkeeper said I could go play downstairs later and if I made them some money there would be extra food for us. What do you say about coming with me, listening to a few songs and then eating a bit?”

“... Maybe,” Geralt admits.

“... When was the last time you ate something?”

“I had an apple on the cart,” he admits.

Yeah.

A _hell_ of a long time.

“Yes, we’re definitely getting dinner,” Jaskier nods. “Come on, it _is_ late enough.”

Geralt _does_ give him another small, relieved smile as he grabs his hand _again_ after Jaskier drops him off on the ground and grabs his lute.

Gods, he _is_ going to kill that mage if he’s not dead, and if Geralt’s mother isn’t for some kind of miracle, he _will_ fucking have her head. Watch him.

\--

He plays a _good_ set, enough that the innkeeper makes no protest when it comes to serving them dinner _and_ showing up with a couple small honey tarts that Jaskier immediately shoves at Geralt -- he’s barely hungry himself and he doesn’t know if he can stomach anything more than the bare minimum he needs to stay upright.

Geralt thankfully doesn’t pick on the fact that he’s really, _really_ not doing that well, and finishes his food _and_ the tarts, but then again he hasn’t eaten in… a whole day, considering also the time _before_ he got turned into a six year old. At least he doesn’t look… neglected or underfed, which is the only consolation Jaskier can get from this entire shitshow, but still.

 _Who the fuck leaves children on the side of the road_ , he keeps on turning over in his head. Then again, if his mother was a mage then she couldn’t have had a kid without some meddling, which means that maybe it had come with a price, and -- hell, he’s too tired for this, and all things considered realizing that Geralt _could_ have been that much against the concept of having a child surprise because _he_ could have been one is _not_ something he should be doing right now.

Also, Geralt has fallen asleep on the table while Jaskier stared into his mug of ale.

Maybe he should just bring him upstairs, get some sleep himself and decide what to do tomorrow morning.

Except that a moment later a woman that he’s sure was behind the counter before sits down next to him.

“My husband told me,” she says, nodding at Geralt.

Right. So she has to be the innkeeper’s wife and he _did_ inform her that they showed up earlier looking for a woman who was never here.

“He isn’t yours, is he?” She asks, sounding sympathetic.

“No,” Jaskier whispers, “I found him earlier looking for his mother. I think… she just left him right there.”

The woman scowls. “Well, good on him that he found _you_. Could’ve done a lot worse.” She pats his shoulder and goes back to the counter.

Yeah, _that_ is for sure. He doesn’t even dare think of the alternative and instead scoops the kid up in his arms again and brings him upstairs. He’s dead to the world when Jaskier takes off his shoes and lays him under the covers, and he spends the night on the second bed of the room staring at the ceiling, catching _very_ little sleep and hoping that Geralt _doesn’t_ remember any of this when he turns back to normal, because he doesn’t know if he would want _him_ or anyone else to find out about _this_ without his permission.

\--

He’s up by the time the sun has risen and he has slept maybe three hours total. Geralt is still completely knocked out, good for him because _he needs it_ , so he supposes he can… try and figure out what to do now.

First of all, probably go ahead to the next town -- if he doesn’t remember wrong it’s larger than this village and the innkeeper rents nicer-than-their-usual-fare rooms for more than a few nights, so he could… well. Rent a couple for a month or so instead of forcing Geralt to stay in an inn for that long, which is really… not where a six-year old should stay. He should also get him new clothes, he can’t last a month just with the ones on him, and probably he could do with… well. A few toys, new shoes, most likely, and finding his damned mother and asking her _why the hell would she do that_ , but that’s not an option, he supposes.

He considers going downstairs and getting them both breakfast, then realizes that if Geralt wakes up and he’s not there he most likely will freak the fuck out, understandably, and -- all right. He’ll let him sleep a bit longer, he supposes. Also wait, what had he said before? That he was going to be six in _two weeks_?

Fucking hell.

The kid spent his sixth birthday in witcher training, or at the beginning of witcher training.

 _When he’s back to normal_ , Jaskier thinks, _I am buying him so much ale_. Which is probably not what he should be thinking right now, but -- never fucking mind. He gets out of bed, washes his face and chest as much as he can with the basin of water in the room and puts on clean clothing, nothing too fancy since he’s not sure he wants to be noticed when they leave, and for that matter he should wash most of his things sooner rather than later. He’s lacing up his shirt when he hears rustling behind him, and _does_ notice at once that Geralt is absolutely fucking _relieved_ to see him standing there.

 _Fucking hell_.

“Good morning,” he says, trying to sound moderately cheerful. He doesn’t ask how did he sleep or if he slept _well_.

“Morning,” Geralt replies politely, but now he sounds… dejected? Maybe. Of course he is. He also doesn’t say anything else. Well, _shit_.

“I was thinking,” Jaskier says, “uh, this place isn’t really that big and I can’t make much money here. The next one is larger. We could head there after breakfast?”

Geralt gives him a nod and nothing else. Right. _Right_. He’s not going to push things or make him talk if he doesn’t want to -- gods, he’s _never_ going to push for details when he goes back to normal, that’s for sure. He waits for Geralt to get out of bed and wash his face -- yeah, he definitely needs new clothes --, and he feels completely dejected as he says nothing either while they have breakfast, and… honestly, Jaskier doesn’t feel like trying to force-cheer him up. In _his_ place, he wouldn’t want to hear it. He pays the innkeeper, who still looks sorry for the both of them, helps Geralt up on Roach, which _does_ put half a smile to his face, at least, and heads out of town. It shouldn’t be more than a day of walking and he has enough coin to rent a decent space, unless prices went high. Could be worse.

Nothing is said for a while.

Then --

“Why are you walking?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier stops so abruptly that Roach _almost_ slams into him.

“Sorry? I was -- thinking.”

“You’re walking,” Geralt shrugs minutely. “But you could ride. We’d go faster.”

It’s _a point_. And fine, Jaskier was walking out of force of habit, and it’s not like Roach can’t stand him _and_ one six-year old when she can carry _Geralt_ with all his weapons when he’s… well. In his usual state. Also, they would go faster if he wasn’t walking.

“Right,” Jaskier says, “I just -- never mind. She belongs to a friend, he lent her to me for a while, and usually he’d ride and I’d walk when we were in the same place, so. I didn’t consider it. But yes, we’d go faster. Just you wait.”

He mounts behind Geralt, and doesn’t miss how the kid _does_ kind of lean back, as if searching for body heat.

Good thing he can’t see his face, because Jaskier thinks he’s this close to breaking down in tears, and it’s day _two_ only.

\--

The good news is that he remembered right -- the inn owner _does_ rent proper rooms, and when he hears _why_ Jaskier has just shown up with a kid in tow he’s immediately understanding and actually gives him a discount for the first week. Good. And a lot of people pass by from here, so he’s pretty sure he can spend the next month earning decent coin and taking it easy.

The bad news is that he can see Geralt checking like a hawk anyone that passes outside the inn’s door.

He doesn’t tell him to _not_ ask the innkeeper if he saw a woman with bright red hair.

Maybe he should have, considering how devastated he looks the moment the man shakes his head and says that no, no one like that has passed by in the last month.

He should -- do something. _Say_ something meaningful. For once, he’s out of words.

“Hey,” he says, “I think you need new clothes if we’re staying here a while. There’s a market nearby. Do you want to go for a bit?”

Geralt’s head jerks up, finally looking back at him. He doesn’t look so sure. “I can wash these. You don’t have to spend money on me,” he says, then looks back down.

Of course he thinks _that_. For a moment he’s reminded of the Geralt he knows so strongly he almost faints from it.

“I _have_ the coin,” Jaskier says, “and I don’t exactly make a point of saving it. Really, it’s all right. And you can’t just wash these… over and over.”

Geralt does think about it for a moment but then nods and holds out his hand again.

Jaskier takes it and heads for the market.

If anything else, he’ll get him _nice_ clothing, for what little it means.

\--

The good thing is that there aren’t many people in the market right now.

The damned _heartbreaking_ thing is that when Jaskier asks Geralt his favorite color so that at least he can go find clothing he might like the kid whispers tentatively, “It was red.”

“It… was?” Jaskier asks cautiously.

Of course.

Like his mother’s hair.

It would be damn _adorable_ , if only -- yeah. If only.

Geralt shrugs and says nothing.

“Okay,” Jaskier changes course, “and what about your second-favorite color?”

Geralt seems to think about it.

Then --

“Blue, I guess,” he says, barely loud enough to hear.

“Right. We can work with that,” he says, and when he finds a stall that sells _nice_ clothes for children he buys Geralt some three changes, all in different shades of blue, and if one of them has some red leaves embroidered at the hems, well. He _did_ say he liked red.

Back in their rooms, he asks for a bath -- the kid _does_ need one at this point, and he could use that as well -- and checks his own clothing. Yes, he’s down to his last change and _yes_ , he absolutely needs to find a laundress this afternoon.

He tells Geralt to choose one outfit for after the bath is brought up while he checks if he has _anything_ clean in his bag. Just when he’s sure that other than his one change of both clothing and underwear he really has none, he feels a tiny hand tentatively touching his arm.

“Yes?” He asks. “Is there a problem?”

“I -” Geralt starts, haltingly, “those are _too nice_.”

Oh. The clothes. The ones Geralt is wearing now are… well, not exactly fancy. Nice, but not _fancy_. He might have chosen fabric that was a bit more refined than what Geralt’s clothes were made of, but he didn’t really… think on it.

“I got you what I’d have bought for myself,” Jaskier finally says. “Really, it’s all right. The size is fine, yes?”

Geralt nods tentatively. “It is, but --”

“Then just choose one for later.” Geralt nods again, still looking at him like _that_ , and gods but Jaskier really, _really_ needs a drink before he breaks down crying in front of the poor kid who _has no idea that_ \--

“Hey,” he says, “I, uh, I just have one clean change. I’ve got to find someplace to wash these, I think I saw one just around the corner. Will you be all right with that bath while I drop them off?”

Geralt nods again, making a face when he smells his bag. Right. It _really_ was getting too much.

“Yes,” he says. “But I can wash mine, I know how -”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jaskier says, patting his shoulder as he stands up, “but you don’t _have_ to. Right. I’ll, uh, be back as soon as that bath gets here and I drop these off then.”

Geralt opens his mouth but then someone knocks and they bring the bath in -- _good_ , at least he can leave knowing that no one else is getting in after he goes. After Geralt tells him that _yes_ he will manage that, he nods, grabs his pack and runs straight down the stairs. He finds the laundress’, he’s told that he can come back in the evening because it’s a slow day, and -- he should go back up but he really needs that fucking drink, and so he stops at the first tavern he sees, asks for some ale and downs it feeling like shit because _he has a damned six year old in his room who is also his cursed best friend and he’s here drinking because he felt like he could weep just staring at him_ , and --

Right.

 _Right_.

He finishes it, doesn’t ask for a second round and takes a deep breath.

He might be feeling like death warmed over, but -- objectively, he’s kept his shit together and honestly, he thinks he’s allowed some minor freak-out when it’s not like he can _tell_ anyone else. Now he just -- he’ll go back upstairs, make sure Geralt’s all right, take a bath for himself and then he’ll see what happens and he’ll plan his set and then see to make sure that it’s not going to be be a month of Geralt _relieving his damned worst memory_.

Then he’ll buy him a _lot_ of ales when he goes back to normal.

Sounds like a plan. Right. Good.

He thanks the maid and heads back to their rooms.

\--

Upstairs, Geralt has already finished, or so it seems -- he’s standing in front of the only mirror in the place, having put on the plainest of the changes Jaskier got him, it’s just trousers and a small light blue tunic, but it does fit him perfectly. He has damp hair and there’s some water around the floor, but other than that, nothing is amiss.

“Nice to see it fits you,” Jaskier says approvingly. “It’s… comfortable, right? Nothing too tight?”

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s nice. Thank you, I --”

“It’s all right,” Jaskier says. “I’ll take a wash too and then we can plan for the next few days, how about it?”

Geralt nods, biting down on his lip.

Jaskier takes a quick bath in the very, very lukewarm water and changes into his last available set of clothing -- it’s green and gold, and kind of _too much_ for playing this kind of inn, so he only puts on trousers and the chemise, leaving the doublet be. He finds Geralt sitting at the one table in the entire place, having obviously climbed the chair, staring down at his hands.

He takes the opposite seat.

“So,” he says, trying to sound as cheery as it gets, “I rented the place for a week for now.”

“For… now?” Geralt inquires.

Jaskier shrugs. “Depends on the crowds. I mean, this town’s usually good for that and it usually takes a couple of days to realize if it’s a good moment or not. If it is, well, I’ll probably make good coin and I can rent it further. But if you’d rather leave and look for, you know… that’s fine, too.”

Geralt bites down on his lip harder, hands clenched into tiny fists. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I want to find her. But if -- it’s not a mistake?”

Jaskier, who knows even too well that it _wasn’t_ , tries to not do something stupid like letting Geralt realize he _does_.

“Maybe we stay here for a week and then see what’s happened then?” He proposes. Geralt nods tentatively, still looking like he’s not sure of why Jaskier would ask _his_ opinion.

Shit.

He needs a distraction. Now.

“You know what,” Jaskier says, reaching for his notebook, “I was working on this song. I mean, I _am_. I think I have the music down but I don’t really know about the lyrics. Care to help me out?”

Geralt’s eyes go wide. “But -- _you_ would know.”

Jaskier shrugs. “I don’t,” he says, truthfully, “for this one the music came easy but I don’t really know what I want it to be and some different opinion always works. And in all confidence, the friend who usually travels with me is helpful to a certain point, so… why not? Just hear it out and tell me what it makes you think?”

Geralt nods, looking tentatively… not excited, but intrigued, at least.

Anything as long as he doesn’t think about -- well. About the problem at hand for the next few hours.

Also, it _is_ true that he had the music ready for a new ballad, and _maybe_ he had planned on writing something about the mage they went after before, well, _now_ , but he knows he’s never ever going to put _this_ story into music, so he might as well go for it. Honestly, just thinking about the mage makes him want to punch a wall, _so_. He’ll just play the music and find some… partial comfort in the fact that like _this_ Geralt seems to actually actively _enjoy it_ \-- he’s nodding along with the beat and he does smile a bit when he gets into what’s supposed to be the refrain, which is _way_ more than his adult counterpart ever admitted even if Jaskier _knows_ that he doesn’t hate his singing that much.

At least this one was on the happy side. Last thing anyone here needed was for it to be a _sad_ ballad.

“It’s nice,” Geralt says when he puts the lute away. “Maybe you could make it about a knight?”

“I could,” Jaskier agrees -- of course he _could_ , and it’s always a good subject, and Geralt looks like he _wants_ to collaborate, _so_. “And what should this knight do? I’m open to all suggestions.”

Geralt thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “Maybe he could save a princess? No, more than one princess. It’s boring when they always save just one and then get married and that’s it.”

Jaskier _has_ to laugh a bit at that -- it sounded so _cute_ , how could he not?

“Sure, he can save more than one princess. Maybe a couple princes, too?”

Geralt nods _very_ seriously. “Sure. Princes don’t seem very good at handling themselves, anyway.”

“Then we’re doing that. Any reason why you thought of knights? Just curiosity.”

At _that_ , Geralt smiles a tiny bit wider. “I want to be one.”

“Oh,” Jaskier asks, his tenuous good mood immediately plummeting down as he hears it, “do you? I think you’d make a good one.” _For the love of your craft don’t let yourself sound as sick as you’re feeling_ , he thinks as he says that, because if he’s right here --

“Thank you,” Geralt grins politely, “I hope. And -- knights travel the world and save people and have friends everywhere, and then they become famous.”

“What,” Jaskier says, wishing desperately this didn’t make _so much sense and yet it does_ , “would you like songs to be written about you?”

“That would be great,” Geralt grins wider, “but I just… want to help people and be _good_.”

Which… is just a fucking _Geralt_ thing to say, and Jaskier wants to _cry_ because that’s really all he wants even _now_ isn’t it, and of course everyone else spat at him on good days before he wrote _Toss a Coin_ , and of course he’s _never going to admit he might actually not hate it_ , for --

“What about,” Jaskier says, trying at all costs to sound like he has it together, “we name the knight Geralt, too?”

“You _would_?” Geralt asks, his eyes lightening up, and _how is he supposed to last one month like this?_

“Sure,” Jaskier says, “so, how many princesses are we talking about here?

\--

Later that evening, after Geralt is sleeping like the dead in his bed and after he’s refilled his purse playing a busy set, Jaskier thinks about the ballad draft he has upstairs in which said knight named Geralt (of _Redania_ though), for now, saves four princesses _and_ a prince and then gets a horse named Roach as a gift from one of them before going to more adventures -- which they could _absolutely_ write since it’s the kind of ballad that can go on and on as long as needed.

He wonders, _if he’s wanted that for so long and being a witcher just made everyone scorn him, how fucking unfair is it_?

The answer is, _a goddamn lot_. Then again, _what_ is fair when it comes to Geralt’s lot in life? Not really that damned much, _is it_ , he thinks, except that he’s no good to anyone if he keeps on wanting to punch a wall out of hating things he can’t change, so now he’ll go back upstairs and spend the next month actually trying to make sure Geralt isn’t _miserable_ and there’s no worst memory to be relieved, and when this is over he’ll… buy him ales. A lot of ales. Geralt most likely won’t want to talk about it and he’ll respect it, so -- right.

That’s a plan, he tells himself. That’s _absolutely a plan_. He can stick to it.

He _can_.

\--

Sticking to the plan goes out of the window the next day when he comes back upstairs with breakfast and finds Geralt staring outside as if he’s low-key hoping his mother will show up out of nowhere but he actually knows that it’s nowhere near likely and Jaskier’s not so low-key homicidal instincts flare up all over again.

He thinks he’s lost count of how many times he wondered how the _hell_ you leave your kid on the side of the road like that - he gets people leaving newborns in front of the town hall or the local orphanages if they can’t care for them, but from what he gathered Geralt’s mother never let him think that she _didn’t_ want him, and she did keep him that long, so _what the hell was evern wrong with her_ , for -

He needs to stop thinking about that because short of meeting the woman he’ll never have an answer and considering how old Geralt actually is she might be dead and gone, for all he knows.

“So,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound _too_ fake-happy, “slept well?”

Geralt nods tentatively, moving his head from the window. “I heard you for a bit. Before I fell asleep.”

Jaskier had thought he had passed out long before he started playing, and he kind of hopes he hasn’t heard _The Fishmonger’s Daughter_ though that was a bit… later in the set, but from the way Geralt’s looking at him he’s not about to ask him an explanation of _those_ lyrics.

“You’re good. I mean, from what I could hear. You have a nice voice.”

“Well, thanks,” Jaskier says, entirely too aware that it’s the nicest thing Geralt’s ever told him about his singing until _now_ \- so he _does_ like it, the bastard -, “but I hope I didn’t keep you awake.”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head, “it… it was nice. Sleeping hearing it.”

He sounds so fucking _sincere_ as he says it, Jaskier just - he puts the food he got downstairs on the table and waits for Geralt to start eating it. He starts going through his clothing while he does - he needs something less grand but now that he has it all cleaned and back he can search for a decent outfit, and then as he chooses a pale blue one that has seen its days but is still pretty serviceable and wouldn’t make him look _entirely_ too out of place.

He changes quickly, moving behind Geralt, and then goes back to sitting at the table, opening up his notebook where he had left the draft of the ballad from yesterday - it’s not _that_ rough, actually. He’s halfway sure he needs to fix the metric here and there, but as it is he _could_ play it in a couple of days at most.

He can feel Geralt’s eyes on him as he does, but he doesn’t ask what’s wrong or if anything is, not until -

“You really do like… fancy clothing,” Geralt finally says.

He doesn’t elaborate on that thought. Jaskier shrugs and closes the notebook.

“I do,” he says, “but I don’t see the point in wearing things you don’t like when life is short and coin comes and goes. If it was a roundabout way of asking me if I shelled too much money on yours… I did have the coin and I made quite some yesterday.”

Geralt nods, not saying a word, looking down at his clothing as if he’s trying to process what he’s saying, and they eat in silence and for once Jaskier’s urge to feel it isn’t as strong as the feeling that whatever he’s going to say would sound completely trite or useless, so he says nothing, for once.

It feels wrong.

But it’s not like he can do _anything_ about it, can he?

\--

The next week is - _bad_.

Or better, it could be _worse_ , and he’d rather have _this_ over any other option - what if he hadn’t found Geralt, what if he really got sent back in time and then _who knows_ , _what if,_ damn, he has to _stop_ going down that road because it won’t get him anywhere - but still, he’s… adjusted to Geralt’s silences when he’s an adult. After three days in which he barely speaks if not to say thank you and confirm that he’s doing more or less fine when Jaskier asks he feels like he’s doing everything wrong here, because - well, not that he has this great experience with children _by himself_ beyond occasionally entertaining them on the road, but in general it’s just _wrong_ that he’d be this sad when he’s like this -

And what can he even do about it? Certainly not conjure his mother out of thin air, and of course he’s miserable, and he can only hope that the more time passes the less horrid he feels even if he knows it’s asking for the impossible, and _then_ he gets the bad news he didn’t need.

“Sorry,” he asks the innkeeper after the man takes him aside before he can bring breakfast upstairs, “are you saying we should leave _tomorrow_?”

“I’m not happier than _you_ are,” the man shrugs. “No one pays me to house the fucking army, but there’s a regiment passing by, I got warned I have to give them lodgings same as anyone else in town who has free lodgings to give and they’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pay you back what you already gave me, of course, but I can’t let you stay.”

So much for Jaskier hoping they’d have at least a nice two weeks of laying low _somewhere_.

Then again, it’s not like he can do anything about that except taking his money back, spending some of it on extra honey tarts and going back upstairs.

“Hey,” he tells Geralt as he puts breakfast on the table, “we have to leave tomorrow. The innkeeper has to house some soldiers and they’re sending everyone away.”

“Oh,” Geralt nods, sounding… maybe a bit disappointed, though it could also be that he’s just sad, and what does Jaskier know.

“But,” Jaskier says, “he did say I could still play tonight, so… maybe you could stay for the set and see how _your_ song fares?”

“You - you want to play it?” Geralt asks, eyes widening.

“Why wouldn’t I? I did some adjustments but I could as it is. And people are always glad to hear new compositions, so - sure. Of course I would.”

“Then - it would be nice,” Geralt says tentatively, smiling a tiny bit, and Jaskier decides that he’s playing it every night from now until this month ends if that’s what it takes to put a grin on his face as small as it is.

“Good. Then you should get the first row seat.”

Geralt smiles a bit more.

Well, not playing _The Fishmonger’s Daughter_ is going to be _absolutely_ worth it. And _Toss a Coin,_ too, but he’s played it for the entire previous week, he’s pretty sure people won’t be too heartbroken.

\--

That evening, he doesn’t miss that Geralt actually put on the clothes with the embroidering, the nicest ones in the sets he got him.

He tries to not let it show too much that the moment he noticed he felt like going down on his knees and hugging him already, except it would have looked _a tiny bit suspicious_ , so he just tells him that he’s glad he liked _those_ clothes, too, goes over the songs he picked for his set again in his head, and so what if he picked a _lot_ more ballads about knights than his usual, who’s going to protest? He could have just wanted to vary the repertoire, after all.

He wears one of his blue outfits, and if it was because Geralt told him he thought it was the nicest one he had while he was asking for advice, well, can anyone blame him either? He doesn’t think so. He puts it on, then goes to the inn with Geralt following suit, tells the owner to get him some dinner, sits on the inn’s small stage as soon as he can see Geralt having taken his spot at a table in the first row a bit to the side, and he starts playing. He gets the couple _sad_ ballads he had out of the way first, and then only plays _lively_ tunes, grinning when he looks up and sees that Geralt is smiling openly, and when he goes into one that requires the audience clapping along he’s delighted when he sees that Geralt’s doing that, too, and if his older version would never be caught dead doing it, well.

He’ll see to remember this instead. At least he’s having fun, which was what he was hoping for, so it’s all good. It’s all good.

He leaves _that_ ballad for last. He introduces it as a new composition, _you’re the first to hear it so you should feel like a very special audience_ , he says, and everyone laughs, _good_ , and then he launches himself into it, each stanza describing in detail how their valiant knight saves the four princesses _and_ the two princes _and_ gets the horse and also slays a few monsters after, Jaskier had added those couple stanzas at the end telling Geralt that _he had a witcher friend who did just that if he’d like it to be in the song_ , and Geralt had said sure, it sounded great, and witchers were a bit like knights anyway, weren’t they, and what was the witcher’s name, and Jaskier had said Vesemir because he’s the only one out of the other witchers that Geralt had mentioned, and _thankfully_ it hadn’t seemed to remind Geralt of anything, so at least he has no idea of why his mother -

Never mind _that_. He focuses on the song, delighted to see that not only the entire audience is enjoying it - they all were laughing at the second helpless prince that got saved - but also to see that Geralt is smiling so wide his teeth are showing, _finally_ , and he’s almost sad when he has to play the ending chords, but - he can make it longer next time, he thinks.

He gets his purse filled a _lot_ , after he puts the lute away.

“See,” he tells Geralt, “went very well, didn’t it?”

“It - it did,” Geralt nods. “You’re really good.”

At _that_ , Jaskier can’t help preening a bit, grinning a bit wider as he drinks his ale. “Modestly, I like to think I can make a name for myself. Oh, wait.”

He takes out a few coins from the purse, then hands them over to him. “Here. You did help me with those lyrics, didn’t you?”

“... Really?” Geralt asks. “But - it’s _your_ song.”

“But I wasn’t the only one who wrote it. Really, _please_ , have them. Wouldn’t want to pocket coin that doesn’t belong to me only, would I?”

Geralt nods and slips the money into his own pocket, and then Jaskier decides it’s time to call it a night since they should be leaving tomorrow and he feels exhausted and Geralt looks the same.

They go upstairs and while Geralt sleeps fitfully -- he _can_ hear that, he keeps on tossing and turning even if he’s definitely not awake, he nodded off the moment he slipped under the covers -- he thinks about what they should do next.

They’re… somewhere near the Redanian border. Also, the fact that Geralt hasn’t apparently noticed that wherever they are is most likely _nowhere_ near where he used to live… well, at least he won’t have to explain him _how_ he ended up on the opposite side of the Continent. Imagine if they had been in Toussaint or near Oxenfurt when this happened.

He’s _not_ going to entertain that thought and he’s going to actually _decide the damned route_ , damn, he knows the entire Continent almost like the back of his hand now, it shouldn’t be _too_ hard.

So. They’re somewhere near Hagge, but no point in going there - it usually just brims with soldiers and the lodgings are bad and if they’re going to house soldiers _here_ , then they wouldn’t even find a free room there for all the coin in the world. Actually, that rules out the entirety of Kaedwen in the first place.

They could just walk the way to the Redanian border and go to Murivel, it should be quieter and while it’s not his favorite place to play, it’s still large enough they could find lodgings easily. At most he could rent a cottage on the outskirts of town and play at the inn, which - is not a bad plan, actually. And it’s not like he has any better options, and he knows Redanian inns better than most since it was as far as he would travel when he lived in Oxenfurt, so - yes. They’re going to Murivel. He just hopes that it won’t take too long, but they _do_ have a horse, so it shouldn’t be tiring Geralt out too much, at least. Decision taken, he tries to sleep, even if it doesn’t come too easy.

Not that it ever has, in the last days.

\--

Geralt doesn’t protest when Jaskier tells him the plans (but then again why he would, as far as he knows Jaskier’s paying him a favor not dropping him at the first orphanage he sees, and doesn’t _that_ feel wrong, it used to be the contrary in the beginning, orphanages notwithstanding), and he insists to put back his old clothing, _wouldn’t make sense to ruin the nice new ones._ They get Roach from the stables and leave just in time to cross ways with the regiment coming into town, and Jaskier should really try and find out if there’s some minor skirmish going on between Kaedwen and Aedirn, because _why_ would you have that many troops on the move, but it’ll be for when they get to Redania.

For now, he leads Roach out of the gates before jumping on her back and if Geralt presses back into him _again_ as they ride, he says nothing.

\--

That evening, he’s _really_ glad that he had the presence to buy some food in town, because _he_ can’t exactly hunt or cook anything as it is even if the gear is still on Roach, and oh, _fuck_ , he hadn’t thought about the fact that Geralt’s swords disappeared with - well, with Geralt’s _regular_ self, but it’s not like he can do anything about it that’s not waiting to see what happens when he turns back. They definitely weren’t around the mage’s house, and not with Roach, _so_ he’ll just… hope they magically show up again when everything is back to normal. If not, _if not_ , they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it. Still, something else that could have gone better.

“Are you all right?” Geralt asks, distracting him from his trail of thoughts.

He shakes his head and bites down on the bun he had bought at the town’s baker’s just before heading out while Geralt munches on his own.

“Yes,” he says, “just… I’m a bit worried about the friend who lent me that horse, but he said we’d meet in Toussaint in two months, so I’ll just… trust him to be there and stop worrying.”

“Oh. Was he off doing something dangerous?”

 _Now that’s one question_ , Jaskier thinks, trying to not start laughing hysterically just at hearing it.

“He’s… generally off doing something dangerous, yes, but this time around it was apparently a long job and the horse would have just suffered because it was around the mountains, so - he’s usually all right. I just, I tend to be the type of person who gets worried a lot, so.” He shrugs, feeling like he _could_ get drunk right now. He really fucking could.

Except he _can’t_ , so.

“Would that be the witcher friend who slays monsters?”

Yeah, well. He should have figured the deduction wouldn’t have been too hard to make.

“Yes,” Jaskier says. “I mean, he… he can take care of himself. He’s always managed. Just, it’s kind of my thing. Worrying. Then he says I exaggerate, but one of us has to.”

Understatement, _oh what an understatement_ , but he doesn’t know how else to put him.

“I hope he comes back,” Geralt says. “Maybe I could meet him too?”

Fuck. _Fuckfuckfuck_ he’s not going to burst out crying, he’s not, he’s not, he’s _not_ -

“Of course,” he says, forcing himself to grin, “I’m sure he would be delighted to.”

Geralt smiles, looking genuinely _pleased_ at the idea.

Jaskier doesn’t sleep a fucking wink that night, and when Geralt asks the next morning he pretends that the ground was too hard even if he’s been adjusted to it for years by now, but then again _the other_ Geralt wouldn’t have been fooled, this one… what does he know?

He mounts back on Roach and they take the path back to Murivel. Three days at most. And then it will be almost two weeks and they’ll be halfway through with the curse and -

And he _really,_ really hopes Geralt doesn’t remember this when he turns back.

\--

It’s a quiet ride. It’s also a pretty boring path, most people follow the river while this one is more in-land, so they only meet a few people going the other way and honestly, better like this, because he _has_ seen Geralt’s face get hopeful every time they hear a cart or a horse coming and then going back to _sad_ the moment he realized it wasn’t his mother, and the least it happens the better, really. He tries to distract him asking help to plot his next ballad, he can think of some music for it later, and he supposes some other knight _and_ a witcher teaming up to slay a monster who kidnapped the princess _can_ work. Actually, he doesn’t think there are songs about witchers teaming up with humans to do any job in existence around, he would know since _he_ wrote most songs about witchers around _period_ , so - he can definitely work with that. He commits the details to memory, vowing to think about it later in the evening, and when he realizes the sun will set shortly and that they’re actually nearing a pretty nice meadow, with trees in bloom and flowers all around the place, he decides that they might as well stop here instead of risking to make camp somewhere less comfortable just for the sake of a few more miles. They should get there in a couple of days, three at most, and he has food to last until then, so they can afford to go slower.

Geralt seems pretty happy with his choice of camp and so Jaskier goes to tie Roach to the nearest tree he finds, telling him to go have fun if he wants to take a look around, _just avoid running into the forest, I’m not a knight nor a witcher so I can’t exactly run there that fast if some wild animal shows up_ , Geralt nods with wide eyes and runs off to take a look around the place and Jaskier goes back to take a good look at Roach -- she was stabled well so now he just have to brush her coat, and he’ll give her a couple of sugar cubes too, it’s not like Geralt is going to reprimand him for that.

Not for the next couple weeks at least. _Fuck_.

“I know,” he says, “he’ll be back soon. Though you _do_ know he never left, did you?”

She bumps her head against her chest.

Yeah, she _knows_ , doesn’t she?

He gives her a last cube, then tries to figure out what’s next. He should get the lute off his back, get the bedrolls out, take the food from his pack and at that point it _will_ be dark, and then he can get a fire up and maybe play Geralt something or start working on that ballad or maybe the two things at once, yes, maybe he should write down the notes while the sun is still up, it won’t go down for a while --

“Jaskier?”

 _Damn_ , he didn’t hear Geralt coming up at all -- was he that distracted?

“Yes?” He says, turning on his side and putting his hands on his knees and sliding into a crouch --

Oh.

Of course he didn’t hear Geralt coming up, he took his shoes off and they’re on soft terrain _and_ he was distracted, so that explains it, but that doesn’t explain that Geralt is holding with dirty hands a neatly put together bouquet of freshly plucked bright yellow primroses and is not quite looking at him _but_ is still… very obviously offering it to him.

Jaskier thinks he’s about to _die_ here.

“Is -- is it for me?” He asks, cautiously. Geralt’s hair looks so bright red in the setting sun, it could be fire. He still doesn’t look at him as he nods, and then --

“Yes,” he mutters, and of course Jaskier’s going to take it, but still, he can’t help asking --

“Any particular reason for such a nice gift?” He says, reaching out to take it but not quite grasping the stems.

Geralt’s cheeks turn inflamed at _that_. It makes the freckles on his cheekbones stand out.

 _He doesn’t have them anymore_ , Jaskier thinks, feeling sad for a moment again, but gods he’s _not_ going to start sulking _now_ and ruin -- whatever is happening.

“You’re just -- very pretty,” Geralt blurts, and _what_ , wait, he hadn’t expected that, he _hadn’t_ , “and -- maybe I haven’t seen many places or people until now, I guess, not until we met, but -- you’re, uh.”

“I am?” Jaskier presses gently as he finally takes the flowers.

“ThemostbeautifulpersonI’veeverseen,” Geralt blurts, _still_ not quite looking at him even if he’s sneaking a glance, and --

Jaskier is _not_ going to ask him to repeat it.

But --

But he feels like he’s going to fucking _faint_ as he grabs the flowers harder.

“Well,” he wheezes, “thank you very much. They’re also very, very pretty.”

“Was nothing,” Geralt replies, looking down at his own feet and still blushing but sounding pretty damn pleased with it.

“Still, I _greatly_ appreciated them. And the nice compliment. Thank you again,” he says, and then -- well, damn it, it’s not like it’s going to change anything at this point, but he can’t _just_ stand up and go make camp, it just -- it would fell _wrong_ and _what has Geralt just told him_ \--

He reaches out and ruffles Geralt’s fire-red hair before moving up to his feet, grabbing a couple of primroses and sticking them in his hair.

“The others can go into my notebook, how about that?” He asks, already taking it out of his pack after dropping the lute to the ground.

“Sounds good,” Geralt says, and he looks obviously pleased as he sees the primroses behind his ear. “I wanted to get you buttercups.”

Jaskier is _not_ going to burst out crying, he’s _not_.

“But there weren’t any around,” Geralt shrugs.

“That’s all right,” Jaskier says, trying to _not_ sound like he will start weeping momentarily, “they’re perfect.”

Geralt beams back at him.

 _If only he did it more often_ , Jaskier thinks and doesn’t say as he beams back.

He’s not moving those flowers anywhere until they fall off on their own.

And --

 _The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen_.

Too bad that Jaskier couldn’t reply, _and you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known_.

But maybe --

Scratch that, whether Geralt remembers this or not, he _is_ telling him that the moment he goes back to his older self. He thinks at this point any reason he has of _not_ saying it has just -- he can’t even remember why he hasn’t ever said it in those terms until now.

And he’s _not_ going to procrastinate it a second longer than needed.

\--

He goes to his bedroll, later, still with the primrose behind his ear, and he _did_ notice that Geralt looked delighted at the sight. He doesn’t manage to sleep much, if at all, and it’s not because the ground was hard -- instead, Geralt seems to sleep _way_ better than he has until now.

If it’s because of what just happened before --

He thinks he stays awake hours with his brain just going over and over what just happened before.

It’s just -- he had sort of been working on the concept that Geralt must have understood that Jaskier had feelings for him in _that_ sense for… a while now, because it’s not like Jaskier ever made a show of hiding it. He never _said_ it, but he thought he had been pretty damn obvious. _Fair_ , Geralt never was the kind of person who assumed anyone could feel _that_ way about him genuinely, but still. He kind of of always thought Geralt knew but wasn’t interested like that and so never addressed it, and the arrangement had suited the both of them -- fine, if he wasn’t interested Jaskier would just… be happy with what they had and never presume it would be anything more.

Except that -- all right, this is not the Geralt he knows, _but_ if he really thinks _that_ \--

He shakes his head and tries to sleep, because it’s fucking ridiculous that he’d decide things based on the current circumstances, except that now he can’t exactly just let it go, can he?

He had known he _would_ tell Geralt the moment he turned back to his adult self, and he’s not changing his mind on it. But he’s trying to figure out if maybe he didn’t read the signs wrong and maybe Geralt might not have been as _not_ interested as he had thought, except that it’s late and it’s all muddled and he can’t figure it out at all, and he ends up waking up every fifteen minutes after he falls asleep thinking on _that_ , and by the time the sun is up in the sky and _Geralt_ is getting breakfast ready because _he_ hadn’t woken up first he feels like he hasn’t rested for a single goddamned second.

When Geralt asks what’s wrong he lies again about not being accustomed to sleeping on the ground as much these days, and forces himself to swallow another sweet bun even if his stomach feels closed.

At least it’s just another two days until they get to Murivel. And he has enough money for a _good_ inn.

\--

When they _do_ arrive in the city, he’s just relieved because there was no way he could keep that excuse up much longer -- he hasn’t slept much for the next two nights either and while Geralt has been definitely livelier, he still looks miserable every time they passed anyone else walking down that road and he’s been more silent than usual, for -- for _this_ standard. Jaskier has a feeling he’s gearing up to ask him something neither of them wants to hear or voice out, but he hasn’t pressed -- he remembers enough of how much he hated it when he was the same age.

Still, he _really_ thinks he can do with sleeping on a decent bed and Geralt can, too, and if while they head for one of the two good inns that Jaskier remembers being also witcher friendly he keeps on glancing at any redheaded woman that crosses their way, he says nothing as well.

 _Of course_ , since nothing could have gone smooth the first time around, the inn is full because there is some kind of diplomat traveling to Nilfgaard and they’re housing him and his entire following. The innkeeper, who also _knows_ him, also can’t stop himself from asking if he finally ended up getting some girl with child and Jaskier shuts him out more rudely than his usual before leaving -- as if he wouldn’t take precautions, will people stop assuming the contrary for once?

Regardless, now he hopes the second inn has a free room or he’s going to have to look for a worse one and… well. It’s what, a little less than two weeks left until Geralt is back to normal? He’d prefer if he spends them somewhere _nice_.

Of course, the second inn is a bit farther from the edge of town, which means _more_ heartbroken staring at redheaded women that are _not_ Geralt’s mother, and by the time they arrive, Jaskier can see that the kid is clearly upset. Well, it’s just about dinner time -- they can just crash early, Jaskier reasons, and he can perform tomorrow.

 _Of course_ , the second inn just has _one_ room free because the rest of the diplomat’s following is staying there, and it’s not a double, but Jaskier supposes that if the bed is the size he remembers they should both fit into it without much of a problem. At least _this_ innkeeper has no comments about his sexual proclivities to offer. He takes it and after making sure Roach is stabled comfortably they go upstairs in silence, and when he places his pack and his lute on the ground it feels like he just got five lutes off his shoulders, not one. At least it’s a nice room with a large bed, so they can share without a problem, and he has enough money for a good dinner, so it could all be a lot worse --

“Jaskier?”

Geralt sounds like he’s about to go to a funeral.

He turns, checking on him -- he’s sitting on the bed, not looking at him in the face, so Jaskier moves to the other side so he can actually look at him.

Well. He also looks like he’s about to cry at the drop of a hat. He _knew_ there was something bad brewing.

“Yes?” Jaskier asks, trying to not… project how fucking _worried_ he’s feeling. “Is -- I mean, what’s wrong? Don’t look at me like that, I’d be a right idiot if I didn’t see _something_ was.”

Geralt takes a breath. “She’s… not coming back, is she.”

Ah, _fuck_.

He could lie. But it would just feel _wrong_ and honestly, in Geralt’s place he wouldn’t want to be lied to.

“I -- I’m sorry,” Jaskier says, “but she obviously wasn’t… anywhere near we went, and at this point… I think probably not. I’m --”

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, when it’s obviously _not_ , “I -- I think I knew. I just -- do witchers have squires?”

For a moment, Jaskier doesn’t get _what_ is Geralt exactly fishing for here, except that --

Wait. _Do witchers_ \--

“Not usually,” he lies through his teeth -- well, they _don’t_ , but he never quite grasped if they _would_ , had they a better reputation, so… he supposes it wasn’t worth it to shut it down. “Why though?”

“I -- you said you have a witcher friend.”

“I do,” Jaskier nods.

“And you’re meeting him… somewhere in two months?”

“Toussaint,” Jaskier confirms. “I mean, if he shows up, but he usually does. Why?”

Geralt shrugs. “I -- maybe if he would take a squire I could ask him if he’d take me.”

He says it _very_ matter of fact. As if he’s been pondering that for… the last two days at least. Fuck’s sake.

“I, uh,” Jaskier says, “honestly, he’s… I mean, he barely used to tolerate me back in the day --”

“ _Tolerate_ you?” He sounds almost outraged at that. It would be adorable, _if_. If.

“I could be pretty annoying when we met, but that’s beside the point.” Jaskier shakes his head. “And he always liked children, but I don’t know if he’d want to drag one into _that_ life. That said, I never said you had to, you know, find a job or whatever.”

Geralt’s eyes go wide. “I don’t?”

“No? And I wasn’t -- can you just… walk me through it?” He goes to sit next to him, while Geralt looks down at his hands.

“I mean,” he shrugs, “I can’t… just be a burden on you forever, _she_ ’s obviously not taking me back, I _could_ squire and if you and your witcher friend travel together sometimes -- never mind.” He falls silent, but Jaskier can hear the _we could see each other_ he’s not saying, and -- fuck, _he_ wants to cry before Geralt does.

If he thinks he’s been mulling _that_ over --

“Not disagreeing that it’s a sensed plan,” Jaskier says, “but it’s not like you _have_ to. You can just… stay? I mean, if you want to squire for -- for _Eskel_ ,” he catches himself just in time, “you might as well come with me and help me out. I can assure you that taking care of my lute strings would be a _lot_ easier than cleaning monster guts off that man’s armor.”

“ _Cleaning monster guts_?”

“He killed some kikimora letting her _eat_ him once, I can assure you it took a week. And he likes to actually sleep on the ground, which _I_ don’t, but -- never mind that. Again, I wasn’t… sending you away or anything like that.”

“Oh,” Geralt says, his lip trembling, “I just -- you never asked for it, and I thought --”

He doesn’t finish that sentence.

Jaskier doesn’t think he needs to hear it -- if _his mother_ just left him on the side of the road, then why would _he_ want him around for much longer, and _doesn’t that just make sense all over again_ , and --

 _If he remembers it later I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it_.

He puts a hand around Geralt’s shoulder, tentatively --

“Well, I _wasn’t_. I have the coin, I can afford a squire, I guess, though bards don’t have them but -- never mind, you got the gist, and I never said you had to go anywhere and I’d honestly feel like a right asshole if I left you to clean up monster guts, never mind that -- _Eskel_ , he never told me, but I don’t think he’d like children around his witchering tha much.”

“I mean,” Geralt shrugs, “if I had no other chances I could just become one too, couldn’t I?”

“You don’t sound… very enthusiastic,” Jaskier replies, pulling him just a bit closer --

He shrugs minutely again. “Don’t know how people go about becoming knights. Maybe it’s the same thing?”

 _If only,_ Jaskier says, trying not to shudder. _If only_.

“Not -- not really,” he says, “ _but_ , you don’t have to worry about it now. Or for… well, you don’t really have to worry about it. And if you really want to become a knight you have a few years in front of you before starting to think about it. How about we get something to eat and get some sleep instead? Because I don’t know about you but I feel _really_ \--”

He never finishes that sentence because Geralt just nodded and threw his arms around Jaskier’s waist, hiding his head halfway in his chest, and Jaskier is not really sure that he’s crying though he’s shuddering, _hard_ , and --

Never mind. They can have dinner later. He turns a bit so he can put both arms around him and move a hand to those fire-red curls, and --

It’s another week and a few days.

He’s doing his best to make sure it’s good, whether Geralt remembers it later or not. At this point it really, really doesn’t matter anymore.

\--

The next day, he drags Geralt out of bed way earlier than Jaskier himself usually rises and tells him he has _plans_.

Said plans consist in getting out of town before it becomes too crowded, go to the field he saw passing by which was _bursting_ with buttercups and make flower crowns, which he hasn’t made in years and Geralt apparently _never_ has, but he remembers well enough, and if he had smiled when he gave him the primroses in the meadow a few days ago by the time they’re done he’s _beaming_ , and so what if he vows to himself to do it again after -- after the month is up?

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Geralt smiling that much for such a long amount of time after he decrees they should go get lunch and come back to town wearing the flower crowns.

It’s probably the first time he _doesn’t_ seem to look for his mother everywhere, and as they sit down in the nicest tavern Jaskier finds on the way back he’s still grinning and he doesn’t talk about her once, and -- honestly, _good_. He has no idea if it was because of the conversation they had yesterday, _maybe_ it was, but he’s not going to complain whatsoever.

That evening he makes sure Geralt has a place at one of the tables at the inn, and he sings a longer version of _their_ song about the knight named like him, and people _do_ really like it and Geralt seems delighted of it, even moreso than the first time, and when they go to bed later he’s downright _giddy_.

“You know,” Jaskier says, “if you like the whole writing songs thing that much, no one stops you from helping me out with a few more.”

“Really?” Geralt _preens_ at that. “I mean, it’s… nice. I don’t think I could _write_ them, but if you need help -”

“Well,” he says, “let’s say my friend the witcher has never told me the details about some time he killed a vampire, just that _he killed her because she was terrorizing an entire town_ and that was it, and he never uttered a word about the rest. Bit stingy with the details, Eskel.”

Actually, the poor man is everything _but_ stingy with details, or at least he wasn’t the two times they met, but. Needs must.

“So you need to… make up everything else?” Geralt’s eyes are wide as Jaskier shrugs and nods.

“I mean,” Jaskier says, “ _yes_ , but such is the life of the poet whose muses are stingy with details, and it’s not like I don’t know him. And he never kills monsters that don’t deserve it or can’t be reasoned with, so I guess that tomorrow you can help me make something up. How about that?”

Geralt nods, his cheeks blushing, and when Jaskier blows on the candle on the nightstand he thinks that whether he ever plays that song or not, he’s _not_ scrapping it away.

\--

During the next two days, turns out that Geralt as he is _now_ certainly is a lot more enthusiastic about songs and the concept of making stuff up to make sure they sound good and effective than he usually is, and maybe -- he doesn’t want to assume that maybe Geralt deep down actually _likes_ the whole thing about making stuff up for songs but he just won’t say.

Maybe he’ll ask. Maybe he won’t.

But as long as his eyes do light up when Jaskier asks him for advice and then puts it into actual song lines, what does he care?

Thing is, in order to make the story palatable, he ended up writing some two stanzas about _what_ happened in the town before Eskel-as-Geralt showed up and decided to dispatch the vampire, and until now according to Geralt’s suggestions they’ve had an entire family slaughtered just outside of town, a newlywed couple whose happiness was cut short when the vampire killed the groom and a grandfather who sacrificed himself to make sure his niece wouldn’t die, which… were not what Jaskier had expected, but fair enough. He _did_ enjoy gruesome stories at that age, too, didn’t he?

“Hm,” he says a couple of hours before he has to play, “I think we’re almost done with this. I think I can squeeze in one more killing, though. Any idea?”

Geralt, who had been folding their newly laundered clothes after insisting on doing that, _he knew how that worked_ , turns pensive. Then --

“Maybe the vampire kills a woman whose husband died just when she had a daughter and she couldn’t afford to feed her, so… she left the daughter somewhere else and the vampire killed her just after and the daughter never knew that she meant to leave?”

He sounds a lot more tentative than his usual.

Of course he does.

“Why not,” Jaskier says, and pens it down.

He doesn’t miss that Geralt smiles thinly, as if he’s relieved.

That evening, when he plays the song to great acclaim, he does notice that people _do_ stop cheering and stomping at that bit, and someone actually cries -- he can hear the girl sob, _but it’s so sad_.

He glances at Geralt. He knows he’s heard. It’s obvious from the way he’s looking at her.

“Is everything all right?” He asks as they go back upstairs.

“Yes,” Geralt says, “I just, feel tired. That’s all.”

Jaskier thinks he can spot a lie when he hears it, but he’s nowhere near sure pushing it would work, so he _doesn’t_ , and figures that when Geralt wants to tell him about it, he will.

\--

On that, he’s not wrong.

Except that it’s not about Geralt _wanting_ to tell him.

It’s about Geralt waking up screaming in the middle of the night a few hours later, thrusting Jaskier into awakeness so fast and abruptly he almost falls off the bed, and when he manages to light the candle on his side of the bed again the kid is not crying, he’s _wailing_ , and Jaskier might have a few ideas of why it’s happened _now_ and not before, but he’s not going to waste time entertaining them -- he reaches out and hugs Geralt instead, tight, not even thinking about it, and he lets him cry against his shoulder while he runs a hand through his hair and curses his mother over and over, and --

“What’s wrong with me?” Geralt finally sobs, and Jaskier’s hand stops.

“Nothing is wrong with you,” he replies, as gently as possible, trying to figure out where he wants to go at, but --

“If there isn’t then _why_ did she leave like that?” Geralt wails again, and oh.

Right.

Fuck, _fuck_ , what does he even say to that --

“Because sometimes people are just… that bad,” Jaskier finally says, hoping it doesn’t sound dismissive or anything, but from the way Geralt keeps on latching at his shirt, he supposes it was _something_.

“But if she did then --” He starts again, and then cries _again_.

Jaskier shakes his head, trying to put it… somewhat better.

“Hey,” he says, “I know it’s… not nice to hear. But -- I told you, my father never really cared about me either way and I had to run away to do what I wanted. Sometimes -- your parents should not be like that, but some people are just bad at it. And it has nothing to do with _you_ and all to do with _them_. What I know is that if we met your mother now I’d give her a piece of mind to start with, but… if she didn’t want you her loss. Really.”

“... Her loss?” Geralt sniffs, moving his head back, looking up at him again the way he did in the meadow, oh fuck, _you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen_ , as if Jaskier’s ever going to forget _that_ \--

“What else? I can’t conceive why she would leave you. There’s nothing wrong with you. And -- I’ve liked having you with me. You’re pretty nice company. I don’t conceive why anyone would, and maybe some people just… aren’t cut for children, but then I say, don’t have them. Or give them up before they can remember you. She’s at fault, not you.”

“Do -- do you really think that or it’s because you want to make me feel better?”

Of course he’d ask _that_.

And what does he even have to lose here? There’s maybe a week left and then he’ll cross that bridge, and nothing is worth making Geralt feel like shit about his thrice damned mother.

“No,” he says. “I wouldn’t say that to make you feel better. I mean it. And anyone who’d think you’re at fault for that is an idiot.”

“Oh,” Geralt sighs, smiling just a bit, and then he tentatively puts his head on Jaskier’s chest again and --

He’s _not_ going to tell him to go back to his side of the bed.

He lets him go back to sleep like that and holds him for the entire night even if _he_ doesn’t really get to go to sleep, he’s too wired up and jittery and feeling like he’ll write twenty songs about this that no one will ever hear just to work it out of his system, and as Geralt’s tiny hands grasp at his shirt he just hopes that if he remembers _anything_ of this, it’s -- it’s hearing that it’s inconceivable that anyone would leave him behind.

He can hope, he supposes. _He can hope_.

\--

He’s also not surprised when the next evening, after a way _better_ day, Geralt throws his arms around his waist before going to sleep.

That night, he _does_ sleep, he’s too exhausted not to, hand moving to the back of Geralt’s head, caressing those red curls slowly, steadily, and he thinks of how people cheered before, when he sang _that_ ballad and Eskel-Geralt finally killed that vampire and everyone thanked him for the service and he actually brought the orphaned girl with him until he found a nice family who’d take her in.

 _Of course they cheer and cry at that but when it comes to real witchers they have no idea there might be the same story behind them_ , do they.

He doesn’t wipe away the couple of tears that fall from his eyes and when the day after Geralt tells him it’s the best sleep he had in forever, he grins sincerely and hopes that he can at least give him _that_ until -- until he turns back.

\--

The day before he does, Jaskier decides that he’s not going to let it pass like nothing.

“Hey,” he asks Geralt in the morning, “I made good coin until now, I think we can take a day off. Fancy going for a ride on Roach and spend the day out?”

Geralt is delighted at the prospect, and so Jaskier takes Roach, rides her with Geralt in front of him to the nearest large field outside of town and -- maybe he shouldn’t let him do it alone, _but_ he knows Roach knows him and she wouldn’t kick him off or anything like that, so he just hops off the horse.

“Come on,” he tells Geralt, “you can take her for a spin on your own.”

“... Can I? Won’t your friend --” He sounds excited, but also _wary_ , and --

“ _Eskel_ really won’t mind. And she’s a good horse, she’s not going to let you do anything that might actually hurt her. Really, you earned it I think.”

Geralt smiles, _wide_ , and then he grabs the reins and starts galloping around the field slowly, and Jaskier has to smile looking at him as he laughs while steering her around.

He looks -- happier than he’s ever seen him, _ever_. Even as an adult.

 _Well,_ Jaskier thinks, _if that mage thought he’d spend a month being miserable, fuck him. At least I could do that_.

He doesn’t know if he can do anything else or more, but it’s -- it’s _something_ , and when Geralt comes back a long time later, his skin red from excitement and the wind and his hair all ruffled and his face covered in sweat, he helps him get down from the horse and says they could have lunch and then make more flower crowns later.

Geralt grins even wider.

 _Good_ , Jaskier thinks, and takes out the sweets he bought before leaving town before they sit down on the ground and eat them, and good thing the field is full of different flowers. They’ll have fun for a while, at least.

\--

Of course, Geralt makes him _three_ buttercup crowns.

Jaskier shrugs and puts them all on at once -- the ones he made for Geralt had different flowers but in the end he only finished one that he made pretty intricate, and then he grabs his lute and plays _their_ songs and the beginning of a new one that he says he might need help with, _for the last time but Geralt doesn’t know that now does he_ , and when the sun is about to set down he has a notebook full of plot details about a prince who wants to marry a girl knight but whose parents won’t let him and so they have to organize some insane complicated plan to run away to the next kingdom, and they’re both completely exhausted but Jaskier can’t help thinking it was worth every second of it, and then Geralt looks at him again in the sunset’s light, just like that time, and --

“This was the nicest day I’ve ever had,” he confesses quietly.

“Well,” Jaskier grins back, “think it was also one of the nicest one _I_ had.”

“Oh,” Geralt smiles, shyly, “that’s… good,” he says, swallowing, and then, “so… so you’re sure that I can come with you? You didn’t think back on it?”

Jaskier tries to _not_ let it show that it felt like someone grabbed his heart in a fist and squeezed it so hard it bled.

“No,” he says, “no, you’re always welcome wherever I go. Of course you can come with me. And we can meet -- Eskel in a month or so, sounds good?”

“Sounds great,” Geralt says, sounding _excited_ , fuck, since _when_ has Jaskier ever heard him excited about anything?

Well.

He’ll treasure that memory for now.

And _then_ tomorrow he’s going to cross that bridge, and however it goes, he’s not regretting a single thing he’s done this month.

And maybe he feels like crying when later that night he has to move Geralt to the other side of the bed instead of holding him close like he did the previous week… but if he turns back during the night now _that_ might be a problem.

He doesn’t know what he hopes for in the morning.

But -- but at least he knows he’s tried his best, and if he’s made Geralt happy _somehow_ for even just this month and just part of it, he’s happy. He really is.

\--

“Jaskier?”

When he’s woken up, the next morning, by a voice he hasn’t heard in a month that sounds a lot more tentative than it usually does, he knows he was right.

He opens his eyes and sits up and -- yes, Geralt is sitting up on the other side of the bed, looking like he did the moment the mage blasted him, and Jaskier can see his swords and his clothes on the ground behind him, so… at least _those_ came back, too.

And he’s not quite looking at him.

“Geralt,” he says, “welcome back. Do I have to deduce that you remember everything?”

At _that_ , Geralt _does_ look up at him. “Sorry, _how_ the hell did you --”

“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have avoided looking straight at me,” Jaskier replies, fondly, “and you have no reason to.”

“I’m --” He starts, shaking his head. “I owe you an apology.”

“... You owe me _what_ ,” Jaskier says, blinking and moving a bit closer. _The fuck_?

“An apology. I -- I saddled you for all this time and I had no idea and you must have hated each single moment of it, so --”

“Woah, stop right fucking there,” Jaskier says. _It’s too early for this_. “Listen, I thought that you wouldn’t want to talk about it and that I would have paid you a shitload of ale when it all started, then -- then things came out and honestly, I don’t know, but you have nothing to apologize for and you didn’t _saddle_ me. I didn’t do or say anything I didn’t mean, anyway.”

Geralt blinks at him. Then blinks again.

“You -- you _meant all of that_?”

“Well, _yes_?” He blinks. “Of course I did. Sorry about the whole, you know, _not telling you it was actually_ you _we were discussing half of the time_ but it didn’t seem like a good idea.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No,” he agrees, “I -- I can see why.” He says nothing for a minute and Jaskier doesn’t press -- he has a feeling he has a _lot_ of stuff to work through and he never was chatty in the first place, so he says nothing, and --

“You didn’t have to,” he finally says.

“To do _what_ exactly?”

He shrugs. “You could have just left me anywhere. I wouldn’t have begrudged you when I turned.”

And he even means it. It’s obvious from the way he’s talking. _Deep breaths, Jaskier, deep breaths_.

“I _could_ , except that never mind that I knew it was _you_ , do you remember what that mage said?”

“Even too well,” he scowls. “And I don’t see why it matters --”

“Sure, it doesn’t matter _that_ was your worst memory? Geralt, please. I get it. You don’t have to talk about it but if you had been a random kid I’d have probably brought you with until I was sure I found someone _nice_ who’d take you, and I _knew_ who you were and you’re -- you’re my _friend_ , for -- of course I wasn’t going to dump you at the side of the road. For the _second_ time in a row, sorry to say.”

Geralt winces openly at that.

“Sorry,” Jaskier says, “that… wasn’t nice to say, but. I wasn’t going to.”

Geralt shrugs, minutely. “I mean. _She_ did, so I wouldn’t hold anyone to different standards.”

Oh, if she’s still alive and he ever meets her, Jaskier is _so_ going to give her a piece of his mind.

“Yeah, _she_ did which means she was a shit mother and --”

“Jaskier, witchers are child surprises. She probably _had_ to, I --”

“Oh, sure, you have to give your child up to _that_ life and you don’t even, warn him or try to do anything to keep him? I stand by what I said. Some people are bad parents and it’s their fault, not _yours_ , so just -- spare me that bullshit. I wasn’t going to. And you weren’t a bother to have around or anything.”

“I _was_ \--”

“Oh, you were exceedingly helpful when it came to plot ballads, for one, which makes me think that you really don’t hate my songs _that_ much, and the whole thing about wanting to be a knight? _Cute_.”

“Jaskier, _shut up_ \--”

“Oh not at all,” he grins, moving closer, “I think I earned the right to _not_ shut up, but hey. I wasn’t making fun of you. It was. And -- for what it’s worth, I’m sorry people never let you be one.”

“... _How did you_ \--”

“Geralt, give me a break. You say you want to be a knight and save people, then you ask me _but are witchers basically the same thing_ , am I supposed to pretend I didn’t _get it_? I mean, it’s obvious because you _are_ the chivalrous type and all --”

“I’m not, _you_ think --”

“Don’t even try to deny it, it would be undignified. What I was trying to say here is that I _get_ it and if people never… realized that witchers and knights aren’t that different in trade I’m really sorry and they are fucking _stupid_ , but that… doesn’t make you any lesser.”

At _that_ , finally Geralt looks at him straight, those pretty golden eyes meeting his, and he bites down on his lower lip which is something Jaskier has _never_ seen him doing, and he looks -- halfway between embarrassed and flattered and like he would like to hide under the sheets, and it would be endearing if --

If.

Oh, right, he forgot to mention _that_.

“Hey,” he says, “I -- you probably don’t want to talk about this. And I _know_ that you said it when you were six so I’m not holding you to anything and if you don’t ever want to mention it again I’m game, _but_ , since you did I decided I was going to address it when you came back, _so_ \--”

“Jaskier, if this is about the meadow I’m --”

“Don’t say you’re sorry and listen to me _one_ fucking second, then we can go get drunk at whateverhourinthemorning it is and I won’t bring it up again, _but_. If it was… the kind of, you know, crush you get when you’re six and you’ve been traveling with a guy that you don’t know but didn’t leave you on the side of the road twice, really, I’m flattered and I won’t, like, presume it means anything more than that, but. You said I was the most beautiful thing you ever saw, didn’t you.”

Geralt stays silent for a moment before nodding. “Yes,” he adds, as if it was the hardest word he’s ever spoken in his entire life.

“Well, then you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known and I’ve been thinking that for a hell of a long time and you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but. I thought you should know that.”

Geralt’s eyes go so wide, it would _almost_ be amusing, if. _If_ this wasn’t the circumstances _that_ came out.

“I -- I am that. To you.” He says it like he can’t believe his own words, and Jaskier just -- he wishes it wasn’t the case, he wishes he’d believe that at once, he wishes he wasn’t surprised when after years it should be _obvious_ , and yet.

And yet he can’t and Jaskier wants to cry just at hearing how much he doesn’t seem to _know_ already, and --

“Yes,” he says, “you’ve been for a long time. And again, I’m not expecting anything from you and we don’t have to talk about it ever again if you feel different, but I just, I thought you should know. And that was the nicest present anyone ever gave me, you know.”

“Shut up,” Geralt scoffs, looking down at his hands, and then back at him, and then at his hands, and then --

Then back at him, but he looks half-hopeful now, and like he doesn’t even know how to start speaking, and --

“What if,” he says, “I told you that -- that you aren’t… fully right? About… about what it was. That I said.”

“What… what do you mean?” Jaskier whispers, moving closer, not daring presume that it might be what he hopes, but _what if_ \--

“That… when I said it, it was… for the reasons you presumed. But -- it doesn’t mean I hadn’t… thought the same thing. Before. Or -- in similar terms.”

Jaskier thinks his heartbeat has _tripled_ its speed in the span of five seconds.

“Wait. Wait, wait, you mean that you -- you actually -- that I shouldn’t pretend I never said it?”

“If… if that’s what you want,” Geralt replies, still not quite looking at him but not retreating, and when Jaskier moves forward and places a hand on his cheeks and pulls it up he _lets_ him, and oh fuck he looks hopeful now, those pretty pretty wide golden eyes staring straight into his own, and Jaskier remembers them being brown and they were equally pretty even if he did fall for _these_ ones, such a unique shade, and before he loses his guts he leans forward and kisses him, just a peck, _just one_ , and he meant to keep it chaste but then Geralt presses back and kisses him again and his tongue tentatively runs along Jaskier’s lips and then Jaskier fucking loses it and kisses him _full_ like he’s been dreaming for years, hands bunching up in Geralt’s hair and pulling him close and a hand going behind his neck and then Geralt groans in his mouth and it makes Jaskier’s blood run _hot_ , and then they’re kissing and kissing and kissing without coming up for air with Geralt grasping at Jaskier’s shoulders so hard it would hurt except that it _doesn’t_ not when it’s because of Geralt and not when he’s wanted this for this long he can’t believe Geralt seems to want it as much too --

“Fuck,” he breathes when they move apart for air, “ _fuck_ , oh, _oh_ , Geralt, _shit_ , if only I had known --”

“I didn’t exactly make it obvious,” Geralt mutters, and his cheeks are flushing ever so slightly and Jaskier has to lean and kiss one.

“Yeah, well,” he says, “I’m not holding it against you, but I will want to do this again. And again. Very much. And I think,” he grins, “that I _will_ add a stanza to that song where the knight finds himself a traveling bard.”

“You -- you still want to sing _that_?” Geralt asks, his eyes going wider than before.

“Sure I do,” Jaskier smiles. “It was a very pretty song. And if you never help me write one again, I should treasure the ones I have, right?”

Geralt scoffs, leaning tentatively forward to kiss him again, and Jaskier lets him --

“Who knows about _that_ ,” Geralt says, “but don’t hold your breath.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, his heart _soaring_ at the admission, “I can wait. I think I really _really_ can.”

Geralt shakes his head, kisses him again, and again, and oh this is so _good_ Jaskier can’t believe it’s so much better than what he had pictured when he _dared_ , and it had felt really damned fucking great in his imagination, back in the day, oh it _did_ \--

“By the way,” Geralt says, moving back, “I will never speak a word of _this_ again, what I’m about to say, but. That mage. If -- if he did the spell today…” He trails off, sounding unsure of how to finish.

“Yes?” Jaskier prompts.

“I don’t think _that_ would be my worst memory. Not anymore. And now don’t you _dare_ say anything about it, got it?”

“Got it,” Jaskier grins, and maybe he won’t do that or talk about it again but sure as hell he’ll never forget it, and if he could make Geralt happy for that one month and he has made him happy before then at points and can make him happy now, then… then he’s entirely all right with it. There’s no need to discuss it, after all --

But he thinks he needs to say something else, first.

“Except,” he adds, moving closer, his lips inching closer to Geralt’s, just a breath, “I think you should know, I will cherish every damned moment I got to spend with you. At whichever age. _Got it_?”

“ _Got it_ ,” Geralt whispers before kissing him again, and at _that_ \--

Jaskier can be persuaded to stop talking. They can discuss everything else _later_ after all, and --

And if Geralt helps him with writing new material after.., at least all’s well that ends well.

Just like in the songs that now Geralt can’t deny he actually does like.

End.


End file.
